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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29211333">How (not) to die</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/essellair/pseuds/essellair'>essellair</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Cyberpunk 2077 (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Fix-It, Lots of Angst, M/M, Obviously not canon, Slow Burn, Soft Johnny Silverhand, Streetkid V, V has a past and we learn about it, because it needs balance, but!! Fluff!!!, explicit sexual content to come, it's about healing, misty gets the love she deserves, spoiler alert: it's a road trip, takes place right at the end of Nocturne OP55N1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 06:21:13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>17,007</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29211333</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/essellair/pseuds/essellair</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Memories flow through him, warm smiles, a young girl laughing, the sound of an engine, excitement, curiosity, wonder. Running on a beach, once, the salty smell of water, the grains of sand between his toes. Waves crashing lazily on the shore in a slow rhythm, the warm light of the sun carressing his face, and then slapping him hard, red skin, burning and frustration, his features feeling tight and dry, cells flaking off his forehead, a cold, wet towel patting his face and soft hands applying lotion. </p><p>It's faded and blurry but it's his, his memory to treasure and cherish and showcase in glass. He hasn't thought about it in years, since before everything, before Jackie, before things got out of control and Night City swallowed him whole. </p><p>“Wanna go to the beach,” he says without opening his eyes. “Swim in the ocean.”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Johnny Silverhand &amp; Male V, Johnny Silverhand/Male V, Johnny Silverhand/V</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>81</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>i just love this game. i just. i needed my fix of fluff and healing so there it is. this ship (this whole game) is too tragic for me and i can't accept that so i had to write something that would make me ignore canon.<br/>this'll be soft but harsh at times, i will post trigger warnings before every chapter as i try to be mindful of everyone. i'm not a native english speaker so pardon me if there are some mistakes at times, you can tell me in comments and i will correct them happily! i hope y'all enjoy and that this will help your little hearts heal and soothe the sadness. ♥</p>
    </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>quick trigger warnings for this chapter:</p><p>TW for (brief) thoughts of suicide<br/>TW for (kind of) graphic description of dead bodies<br/>TW for trauma and grief</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Even if I extract Johnny's engram, your brain is irreversibly damaged, and you wouldn't survive much more than six months.”</p><p> </p><p>Alt's words are twirling in V's head so fast he can't quite get a grip on them. It's hard to understand and harder to accept; everything he's been through in the last months, everything <em>they've </em>been through ending up so useless. As if things weren't depressing enough.</p><p> </p><p>Johnny is angry when he talks. His tone is snappy, his words demanding.</p><p> </p><p>“What the fuck, Alt?”</p><p> </p><p>V kind of wants to say that too but he can't bring himself to open his mouth, too shocked, too disappointed, too fucking sad. He thinks about this moment on the roof, where he made his final decision, when he decided he'd trust Johnny and give him control. He remembers thinking about ending it all, about breaking this endless cycle of pain and suffering they've been stuck in, he remembers looking at the pills and having to fight the urge to toss them off the building.</p><p> </p><p>Shit, how he wishes he'd done exactly that. Rogue would still be alive. He wouldn't have to be here right now, he wouldn't have another choice to make.</p><p> </p><p>Alt leaves Johnny and him alone so they can discuss everything. The cyberspace shifts around them, red pixels morphing into something new, more familiar, perhaps, V's apartment. A bitter laugh rises in his throat like bile, he always hated this shithole but now, now he would give anything for this to be the only thing to worry about.</p><p> </p><p>“So this is a fucking load of shit,” Johnny mutters as he slouches on a chair.</p><p> </p><p>V nods.</p><p> </p><p>“It is.”</p><p> </p><p>“Changes nothing, though, I'll still go. You enjoy your last months.”</p><p> </p><p>Thing is, Johnny surprisingly became one of his closest friends. Who is he kidding, Johnny <em>is </em>his closest friend, and even knowing everything, how he's not supposed to still be alive, how he's slowly – albeit unwillingly – killing him, how he's basically the source of all his problems, V doesn't want to let him go.</p><p>He's grown accustomed to Johnny's continuous presence, and how boring would life be without him by his side all the time? These six months would feel like an eternity.</p><p> </p><p>Johnny, though, he wouldn't die in half a year. He could reunite Samurai or something, keep fighting the power. His life could still mean something. V knows he wants to live. Even if Johnny does his best to hide it when he talks about his death, there's always this dullness in his voice, a pain that's been there for too long, not as sharp but still as intense.</p><p> </p><p>“I think you should keep the body,” V says finally.</p><p> </p><p>It's funny how without realizing it, he's started thinking of his body as “the body.” It's his, but not really, not anymore. It's a vessel he's sharing with someone else.</p><p> </p><p>“Are you out of your fucking mind? I'm not taking your place. It's your life, V. Keep it.”</p><p> </p><p>“I don't want it.”</p><p> </p><p>He can't see it behind the sunglasses but V can <em>feel </em>Johnny rolling his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“Could you just listen to me for once in your life? Make this easier on both of us?”</p><p> </p><p>“You know I was never one to take the easy way out.”</p><p> </p><p>“You do like making stuff complicated.”</p><p> </p><p>They smile. It's a nice moment, if not for the impending doom that's looming over them, waiting for the right time to crush their bones under its weight.</p><p>Johnny takes a drag of his cigarette and V closes his eyes for a minute, pretends he can smell the tobacco, that he can feel the smoke making its way to his lungs. For a few seconds, it's real.</p><p> </p><p>“I don't want to die alone,” he whispers finally.</p><p> </p><p>No answer comes. When he lifts his eyes from his feet, V sees Johnny looking at him with this unreadable look he gets sometimes, this weird mix of exasperation and fondness and pain and anger and something else he doesn't quite recognize.</p><p> </p><p>“I get it.”</p><p> </p><p>It's not what he expected, but the words are soothing. There's something about being understood that makes one let out a long-held breath.</p><p> </p><p>“When I died... It was the worst. Shit, I know how scary it is, V. But I'm not taking your body.” He takes a deep breath. “Besides, you won't be alone. You've got tons of people who care about you. I won't take that away from you.”</p><p> </p><p>“I'm not leaving you here.” V argues. <em>I want you to stay with me </em>is unsaid but not unheard, an ache in the words, a neediness barely suppressed. It's tough not developing codependency issues with the person living inside your head.</p><p> </p><p>“What do you wanna do, then?” Johnny sighs.</p><p> </p><p>“We could... let this happen naturally.”</p><p> </p><p>“So you want to have a slow and painful death.”</p><p> </p><p>“I just want things to go back the way they were.”</p><p> </p><p>He wants them to keep bickering on jobs, he wants Johnny to keep appearing by his side, he wants those few quiet moments where they're simply <em>there, </em>together, and life happens outside of them. Change is scary.</p><p> </p><p>Johnny stands from his chair and walks to him, stopping only when there's a couple inches left between them. “I know,” he says. “We'll do what you want.”</p><p> </p><p>V nods jerkily, a phantom tightness in his throat. He's nothing but pixels and code, here, yet the feeling remains, a lump stuck in the back of his mouth, right at the entry of his oesophagus. That weird pain under his tongue he gets when he's about to cry.</p><p>No tears come out, though. No words, either.</p><p> </p><p>Johnny lifts a glitchy hand to his shoulder. V can feel – or maybe he's imagining it – the warmth radiating from it. “Let's go home,” Johnny whispers.</p><p> </p><p>They call for Alt in the void. She appears in front of them, huge, ethereal, a red goddess, listens to their choice when they tell her, stays silent for a while.</p><p> </p><p>“In that case,” she says finally, “perhaps there is something I can do for you after all. So you don't... die alone.” She sounds weirdly unsure, hesitant, even, when she keeps going. “Arasaka never properly got rid of Johnny's body. It is maintained in cryogenic sleep, as they planned on using it later to advertise and support their propaganda. If you bring it to me, I will rewrite Johnny's code in it so you can both-”</p><p> </p><p>“Wait a fucking minute,” Johnny interrupts. He's pacing around V, pixels glitching when he talks, anger and confusion tinting his voice. “We went to my grave. You couldn't have told us the first time? Why didn't you say anything?”</p><p> </p><p>“It was not relevant information at the time.”</p><p> </p><p>“Not relevant? We're talking about my fucking body, I think it's pretty fucking relevant! Shit, and you're telling me that in a few years, people would've woken up to see me well and alive, spewing some pro-Arasaka bullshit?”</p><p> </p><p>“It would not have been you, merely another personality implanted in your body.”<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Johnny looks like he's about to scream or burst into flames but he does nothing of the sort, instead lets out a deep, long sigh in his hands and when he looks back up, his face is blank.</p><p> </p><p>“You know where they keep it?” He asks, his tone strangely even.</p><p> </p><p>“I do not have the exact location. Nonetheless, I know it is kept in their experimental lab. Since I took control of the security system, no doors will be locked. It should be pretty easy for you to navigate the different floors of the building.”</p><p> </p><p>When V gets back to his body, he can sense Johnny's anger boiling inside him, wild and fiery. He doesn't glitch next to him, though, doesn't say a word, so V give him his space while he looks for the laboratories.</p><p> </p><p>He's confused and mad, too, but at the same time he can't help but feel slightly exalted at the idea of Johnny being real and alive and an actual human. For a while, he forgets that this won't last forever, that he'll still die in a few months. For a while, he lets himself smile, lets himself imagine just what life will be like with Johnny by his side.</p><p> </p><p>His way to the lab shows him the bloodbath he'll be leaving behind. Corpses that look barely human anymore, severed heads and arms and legs, faces exploded with a torrent of bullets, cyberware sparkling from short circuits and the heavy, coppery smell of blood and guts painting the walls and ceilings, the wrecked cries of half-dead people echoing in the hallways, somehow always finding their way back to him.</p><p> </p><p>Art from a terrorist.</p><p> </p><p>He finds Johnny's body hidden in a secret basement, among a number of experimental projects that make V sick to his core. Notes on Soulkiller, a fucking clone of Yorinobu, tech weapons for their soldiers, Braindances to brainwash agents.</p><p>He doesn't waste time trying to unlock the freezer and just punches straight through the glass, ignores the shards that stay stuck in the delicate skin of his wrists as he puts a hand in the middle of Johnny's chest, naked, cold and real. His blood-covered hands stick to the metal arm as he gets him out of there gently, afraid that anything too rough would make the body in his arms crumble into dust.</p><p> </p><p>It feels like a dream and a nightmare at the same time, getting to see and touch and not being seen in return, transporting a corpse in the long, monochrome hallways with only him to break the deafening silence and a raging fire behind, burning away the corrupt and the wrong.</p><p> </p><p>Back in cyberspace, Johnny is still painfully silent.</p><p>He's silent when he opens his eyes for the first time in fifty years, shivering.</p><p>He's silent when he takes the clothes off some random dead guy so he has something else to wear besides underwear,</p><p>he's silent when they recover Rogue's body, cold and pale, and V can feel his pain like a sharp point in his heart. He's not part of him anymore but he still feels like he's connected to him in some way, or maybe it's just his imagination, a habit that won't die just yet.</p><p>As tired as he is, V can't stand to just leave Rogue there, next to Adam Smasher and everything she stood up against, so he lays her on the backseat of his car and drives out of there, leaves behind the lifeless shells and the urge to scream.</p><p> </p><p>“Take the next exit,” Johnny tells him, and he sounds tired, empty.</p><p> </p><p>He takes V to that little drive-in theatre where they went, what feels like ages ago. V digs the grave deep enough so the soil isn't so poisoned, like everything else in Night City, puts her gun on her chest before burying her. Johnny stays next to him the whole time, silent, unmoving, eyes glued to her. His jaw clenches when soil hides her face but he doesn't say a word, just keeps standing straight as an arrow, takes a deep breath, the wind blows.</p><p> </p><p>It's anonymous but it's there and it's a lot better than the tower, it's the past, it's the Rogue Johnny has known. The one that liked watching shitty movies sitting in a piece of shit of a car, the one that was there, that still stood up for him, that still fought at his side, even after all this time, even after all the betrayals. The one that wasn't there to see him change, that won't be there to see him come back.</p><p> </p><p>V gets back home without even being fully aware of it, finds himself locking his door behind him with no memory of the drive.</p><p> </p><p>The person he sees in the mirror of his bathroom looks like a stranger. It's wide, wild eyes on a face covered in blood and dirt, a broken nose turning purple and a trembling body, uncontrollable shivers running through it every few seconds. He tries to stop the chattering of his teeth without success, keeps shivering under the jet of boiling water, hypnotized by the red splattering it leaves on the shower's tiles. He stays there for a long time, lets his sins and his anger and his pain wash away in the drain until the water's freezing, little needles of ice prickling at his raw, flushed skin.</p><p> </p><p>Johnny wanders around while he's making himself a pot of coffee but V doesn't acknowledge his presence just yet. He doesn't have the will, let alone the energy to even try to talk right now. Johnny must feel it, though, because he says nothing, just lies down on the couch like he does sometimes, hands behind his head, eyes closed. He looks asleep and younger, too, a few years taken from his face, the usual frown softened, the jaw relaxed. It's nice. V wonders if Johnny knows just how nice he thinks this is.</p><p> </p><p>It's different than usual, though, because there's no glitch, no static sound, no buzzing in his head. Johnny's body is radiating warmth, he's taking space and the world accepts him, accommodates him, air shifts around the shape of every limb, gets sucked in and pushed out with every breath, the room vibrates with every beating of his heart.</p><p> </p><p>V lights up a cigarette and Johnny half-smiles, it's not even a smile, per se, but his face softens a bit, the corner of his eyes crinkle ever-so-slightly.</p><p> </p><p>It takes a while for one of them to break the heavy silence.</p><p> </p><p>“So, Alt said you had six months at best before you flatline. What're you gonna do?”</p><p> </p><p>V shrugs. He hasn't thought about it, doesn't want to think about it. It would make it real. So painfully real, and he's content right now, in his utopia where they're both alive and well, where miracles just happen.</p><p> </p><p>“Might keep working. Might get out of town. I don't know.”</p><p> </p><p>“So no plans to try to find a cure?”</p><p> </p><p>“What's the point? There's none.”</p><p> </p><p>He knows he sounds fatalistic. He doesn't care anymore. Everything just feels so... pointless, now that he's back home with nothing really changed except for the fact that death keeps surrounding him, closing in tighter and tighter around him. Being a living legend, what a stupid dream that was, the dream that started it all. Night City feels empty now that there's no goal to walk towards anymore, nothing to look forward to. He feels empty.</p><p> </p><p>“You should do something you really want to do, then. Something new.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, maybe.”</p><p> </p><p>Johnny doesn't add anything and maybe it's because he feels how distant V is being, or maybe he doesn't have much to say himself. V can't bear to stay motionless, to stay sitting, to not <em>do </em>something. As tired as he is, he can't bring himself to sleep, too scared of what's waiting for him in the shadows of his mind, too scared that the bloody flashes he sees behind his eyelids every time he blinks will just come and drown him while he's defenceless against them.</p><p> </p><p>He wants to ask Johnny was he's planning on doing himself but there's something keeping him from it, fear, maybe, that they'll part ways, even though V said he didn't want to be alone, even though they both came back here. Maybe it's a matter of time before everything explodes and V finds himself more alone than he's ever been.</p><p> </p><p>So he says nothing.</p><p> </p><p>He drifts asleep tensed up on the sofa, angry at himself for not being able to fight off the sleep longer.</p><p> </p><p>It's agitated. It's memories twirling in his head, it's red and it's Smasher's voice and it's Rogue's face as she gets buried, it's screams and headaches and agony. V wakes up with his throat tight and raw, tears spilling out of his eyes with every sob that shakes his shoulders. He yells into his hands until he can't breathe, until his head pounds and his lungs hurt.</p><p> </p><p>The smell of cigarette makes its way to his nose, welcome and comforting. Johnny is still there, doing nothing, just sitting, eyes closed, blowing rings of smoke. His face is open, a wild mix of emotions painted on his features, sadness, hurt, regret, pain, longing, anger, fury, relief, hope. All of this, a bittersweet cocktail to be seen by the world, by V. It's trust.</p><p> </p><p>V relaxes back on the couch and lets himself think about his future, opens the dam in his head, lets the thoughts flow, the doubt creep in, the fear settle. And once things stop moving so fast he takes his time to examine them, one by one until he can put some order in his mind.</p><p> </p><p>What's something he's always wanted to do? What's his secret dream, the spell he's been protecting himself from? He knows it's somewhere, deep enough inside him where even Night City can't reach, unknowingly kept alive, surrounded by thick, guarded walls. He just has to get through to it, to let go of the survival instinct that's been hiding it. He needs to accept it, to welcome it.</p><p> </p><p>Memories flow through him, warm smiles, a young girl laughing, the sound of an engine, excitement, curiosity, wonder. Running on a beach, once, the salty smell of water, the grains of sand between his toes. Waves crashing lazily on the shore in a slow rhythm, the warm light of the sun carressing his face, and then slapping him hard, red skin, burning and frustration, his features feeling tight and dry, cells flaking off his forehead, a cold, wet towel patting his face and soft hands applying lotion.</p><p> </p><p>It's faded and blurry but it's <em>his, </em>his memory to treasure and cherish and showcase in glass. He hasn't thought about it in years, since before everything, before Jackie, before things got out of control and Night City swallowed him whole.</p><p> </p><p>“Wanna go to the beach,” he says without opening his eyes. “Swim in the ocean.”</p><p> </p><p>“I can't say I was expecting that.” Johnny doesn't add anything.</p><p> </p><p>“You'll come with me?”</p><p> </p><p>It's a fact asked like a question, not definitive enough to end with a period, a fact that doubts, a fact that doesn't want to be left behind. It's a fact that hides other facts but neither of them know that yet, still lost within themselves, still blind to their truths.</p><p> </p><p>“Don't expect me to go scuba diving again.”</p><p> </p><p>It's enough of an answer for V. He smiles. Goes back to his memory. Peaceful.</p><p> </p><p>“When do you wanna leave?”</p><p> </p><p>V shrugs. “I don't know. I feel like I should... I feel like I owe it to some people to call them, tell them the news. You should talk to Kerry, too. The band.”</p><p> </p><p>Johnny sighs. He seems about as motivated at the thought of talking to people as V, but they both know they have to. After everything they've been through, after the past few months and all the help they received, it would be to betray their friends to ignore them. It's not like they can keep what happened a secret: the Arasaka thing has to be on every fucking screamsheet and news channel right now.</p><p> </p><p>Shit. V looks at his holo for the first time since he got home, dozens of notifications, worried text messages, missed calls. He gets back to Panam first, dreading the moment she'll answer.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>You are such a fucking asshole. I can't believe it's been fucking hours since you got out of there and you haven't even texted me to let me know, I don't know, that you were still alive? Do you have any fucking idea how worried I was about you?”</em></p><p> </p><p>She's angry, of course, she has every right to be. As annoying as it can be, Panam's brutal honesty is always there to bring V back to reality, to remind him that hey, some people care about you, you reckless fucker, you don't have to do everything alone, but it's a tough thing shaking off years and years of habits and trauma and loneliness. Still, he winces at the hurt tone in her voice, swallows back the pathetic <em>sorry </em>he's about to say, closes his eyes as he looks for the right words.</p><p>He knows that sorries alone aren't worth shit to Panam.</p><p> </p><p>“I... didn't feel like talking to anyone,” he finally lets out, and it's true. “I mostly slept.” That is less true, but how does one explain everything that's happened in so few words? He needs hours, days, even, to untangle to mess of thoughts in his head enough to give them a sense. “Should've shot you a text at least, m'sorry about that. It's just been so... much.”</p><p> </p><p>She sighs, arms crossed tightly on her chest.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Alright. I don't wanna fight at the moment so I'll let this slip. How'd it go? Are you... Is he gone?”</em></p><p> </p><p>She sounds unsure as she talks, so unlike her, soft and awkward.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes and no. Out of my head, but turns out Arasaka still had his body, so long story short, he's... I mean, he's alive. He's there.”</p><p> </p><p>She's silent for a few seconds, as if processing the information, and then she takes a deep breath, and another, and talks.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>What about you?”</em></p><p> </p><p>“They couldn't do anything. Still dying.” V sighs, a quiet plea, a <em>please don't push </em>plea, and she understands because she nods but doesn't add anything.</p><p> </p><p>Maybe she doesn't understand his situation, but she's a good enough friend that she accepts it, accepts that he's keeping some things secret, that he's not doing well and doesn't want to talk about it, she accepts and she says <em>take care </em>and she hangs up without any more questions.</p><p> </p><p>“You should probably call the rest of your people soon if you want to avoid similar situations,” Johnny says, standing by the window, and V hates that he's right.</p><p> </p><p>He dials Misty's phone number next before thinking better of it. Misty has been there since the beginning, before everyone and through everything, along with Vik. As tiring as it is, he knows he should take the time to go see them. Misty gives good hugs, warm and long, and boy, does he need a hug right now.</p><p> </p><p>V gets out of the apartment building before he changes his mind, leaving Johnny behind, and drives to Misty's Esoterica on autopilot, so much that he barely remembers getting there when he opens the door.</p><p> </p><p>There she is, with her wild hair and loose sweater, and her eyes shine bright when she spots him in the doorway, a smile drawing itself on her painted lips. She walks around her counter and takes him in her arms, buries her face in his chest and holds tight. V can feel the tension leaving his body in slow waves, his muscles relaxing in the hug, and he holds her back, tiny in the circle of his arms, tiny but not fragile, so, so strong, and he misses her, fuck, he misses the days when they would hang out with Jackie after a job, when they would talk and eat and laugh together.</p><p> </p><p>He starts crying without realizing it, it's like a dam breaking, tears spilling out of his eyes, out of control, a waterfall on his cheeks, a sadness held inside for too long. Some of the tears feel different, like they're not his, and V thinks maybe he's crying for Johnny, too, all the pain and sorrow he left him now bursting out of V, their emotions blending together in an explosive mix. Misty takes them all in, though, she doesn't move away, doesn't let go, she just lets her hands run along V's back softly, comforting, like she's always been.</p><p> </p><p>It feels like they've been like this forever when V finally lets her breathe and he sniffs ungracefully, wiping his eyes with a palm, lets out shaky exhales.</p><p> </p><p>“Come sit with me,” Misty says and she takes his hand, guides him to the back of the store, on the old couch that holds so many memories. V follows, lets her lay him down with soft gestures, lets her place his head on her thighs, run her fingers through his hair.</p><p> </p><p>It feels good, like she's taking away all the darkness with only the tip of her fingers, soothing, circling motions on his scalp, the nape of his neck.</p><p> </p><p>“Tell me,” she says with that sweet, gentle voice of hers. She doesn't have to add anything for V to know what she's talking about, and he finds that with her, he doesn't mind talking as much.</p><p> </p><p>And so he talks. He tells her about the tower and the bloodbath, about Rogue and Adam Smasher, he tells her about Mikoshi and Alt and the cyberspace, about Johnny and death and purpose, and she listens silently, her hand still moving in his hair as he sobs on her thigh, weak and vulnerable and broken.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, Vincent,” she says finally, when she's sure he doesn't have anything more to add, when he's a pathetic mess on her couch. “You have no idea what a strong, beautiful soul you are. You've gone through some awful stuff and yet here you are, still alive, still fighting. Things aren't easy, but I find they have a way of arranging themselves for the best if you only give them enough time. You just have to let go of what's holding you back in order to be able to see the bright side.”</p><p> </p><p>She's always had the right words for him. She's always had the right words for anybody, really. V has seen so many people entering her shop with a skeptical look and every time, Misty drew them to her, talked the words she was so good with and they left in awe, wondering just how she could do it, how she could read them, see into them so easily.</p><p>It's one of Misty's many mysteries.</p><p> </p><p>She's also the only one V allows to call him by his real name. She just knew it, from the first time they met, she said <em>V for Vincent </em>and he was so shocked he couldn't talk, it was like she read it in the back of his eyes, and the way she said it made it feel real, made it feel like home. So V said yes, V for Vincent, and she nodded and only ever said his full name in moments like these, when he needed grounding.</p><p> </p><p>“You're tired,” she states when she feels him drifting off under her fingers. “I know you fear nightmares, but this is a safe space. Let yourself go,” she smiles, pointing her dream catchers and crystals and candles.</p><p> </p><p>V does feel safe there. And so he does just like she said, he lets himself go, and falls into a deep, dreamless slumber. He stays vaguely aware of Misty's presence, the touch of her fingers, her smell, her voice as she murmurs words he can't quite understand.</p><p> </p><p>She's still there when he wakes up. She's dozing off herself, and even with all his efforts to be gentle, V wakes her up when he sits.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, V. How are you feeling?”</p><p> </p><p>Her eyes are sleepy but she still asks, thoughtful as she is.</p><p> </p><p>“Better. Thanks.”</p><p> </p><p>She smiles, brings him a cup of flowery-smelling tea and brushes his hair back in place with one hand.</p><p> </p><p>“Don't mention it. You know I'm always there if you need me.”</p><p> </p><p>She is.</p><p> </p><p>It's early in the morning, the sun isn't up yet, and Misty does a reading for him with her new tarot set.</p><p> </p><p>“The pain belongs to the past,” she says. “Ahead lies the unknown and fear, but also self-realization and relationships blossoming. Are you planning to leave Night City?”</p><p> </p><p>“Not permanently,” V mutters, shaken, as always, at how easily Misty can read him. “I feel like getting away a bit. Going somewhere peaceful, where time stands still.”</p><p> </p><p>“Then when you doubt yourself, remember this reading.”</p><p> </p><p>They talk about other stuff while they wait for Vik to get there and bring them breakfast, about how her relationship with Mama Welles improved, about her new set of crystals that she carries with her everywhere so they can absorb her energy.</p><p>Vik is happy when he enters the shop, he wraps V in a short, tight hug with a smile on his lips, though it falters when V tells him that he's still dying, that there's nothing to do. He doesn't offer any pity, though, Vik is not like that, and instead insists that V enjoys his last months and visits him more often when he's not sick and on the brink of death. He tells him to bring Johnny, too, some time, because it's about time he meets the fucker for real.</p><p> </p><p>V leaves around noon, his heart full, happy he made the decision to come here yesterday. He needed this so much.</p><p> </p><p>“Johnny?” He asks when he steps out of the shop, only to remember that Johnny isn't always with him anymore.</p><p> </p><p>There's this empty space in his mind where Johnny's engram used to be. There's an echo that answers him when he talks, it's dark and cold and unfamiliar, like it was never his in the first place. V can't remember what used to be there, if something was ever there once. It's like an open wound, raw and bleeding, like everything that wasn't him was just violently ripped out, leaving behind a complete mess, bloody, torn flesh that would heal into a gnarly scar.</p><p>According to Alt, though, it would only get infected, kill him slowly, filling his head with puss until his brain is mush and his heart gives up.</p><p> </p><p>“Don't think about this,” he mutters to himself and he runs home, trying to put some distance between him and his thoughts, keep them at bay, very, very far away.</p><p> </p><p>Johnny is in the shower when he enters the apartment. It's alien, the sound of someone else living in V's space, the sheer domesticity of it.</p><p> </p><p>“Honey, I'm home!” He jokes and Johnny snorts from the bathroom.</p><p> </p><p>Moments like these, he wishes they would stretch into forever, light and easy and everything he needs. They don't last, though. They never last. When Johnny gets out and lights up a cigarette, the moment is gone, the memory of it lingering in the air around them with the steam from the water.</p><p> </p><p>“I went to see Kerry yesterday.”</p><p> </p><p>“How'd it go?”</p><p> </p><p>“Weird. Good.” He doesn't add anything, takes a drag of his cigarette. “When are we going?” he asks after a while.</p><p> </p><p>V shrugs. Truth is, he hasn't really thought about it; he said it yesterday and left it at that, still not sure, inside, that this was really happening. He doesn't really have anytime to waste, though, so the sooner, the better.</p><p> </p><p>“Could be today.”</p><p> </p><p>Johnny nods. “You know, I was thinking about it, and we shouldn't just go to any beach. We should go to California.”</p><p> </p><p>“California? That's on the other side of the country!”</p><p> </p><p>“So what? Got anything better to do? 'Sides, we could see some other stuff on the way. Make this worthwhile.”</p><p> </p><p>Johnny sounds especially eager when he talks, pacing around the floor with his arms open. He's cute, like that, he looks nothing like the terrorist he's supposed to be, like the anarchist that nuked Arasaka out of spite. There's something childlike about him, maybe it's the way he's bouncing or gesturing or smoking, even, but V likes it. He smiles.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” he says. “We should do that. A road trip.”</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>does anyone love Misty as much as i do? she makes me cry, i swear, i love her so much so this work will include lots of her because we don't see her enough in game and i need more. </p><p>thanks for reading, don't forget to leave a quick comment if you like, it's always appreciated! ♥</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hey sweethearts! i'm back with a second chapter full of angst and softness that i had a lot of fun writing. no trigger warnings apply to this chapter i think, so i hope you enjoy, and please tell me if you spot any mistakes as i don't have a beta-reader and i'm not a native english speaker. have fun! ♥</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They end up deciding to spend one more night in Night City, not quite ready to leave it behind yet. This whole thing is bigger under the surface, V knows; it's not just a trip to the beach, it's one <em>last </em>trip to the beach, the beginning of his end. It's also an opportunity for the both of them to come to peace with everything, with the past, the present, the future. Chances are he'll never come back, maybe he'll just die one day on the road and crash the car, maybe he'll get sicker and sicker and end up passing out and never waking back up again.</p><p> </p><p>However it happens, though, he won't be alone. At this point, it's the best he can get.</p><p> </p><p>As heartbreaking as it was, he's glad he was there for Jackie's final moments. V thinks about how much worse it would have been if his friend didn't make it back to the car, if he died when they fell down trying to escape Trauma Team. If he didn't have those last few minutes of peace, knowing he was loved and cared for. If his body stayed back in Arasaka tower, if his mama and Misty never got to see him one last time.</p><p> </p><p>“Fuck...” V mutters, reaching to his chest with a trembling hand. He presses Misty's amulet in his palm with a sigh.</p><p> </p><p>He's never a day without it. It's always there, the bullet that Vik got out of his skull, Jackie's necklace, a grim souvenir of the day everything got out of control that holds shattered dreams and broken hearts. Johnny asked about it, once. <em>It's my bullet, </em>V had answered, and then he said he was tired and went to sleep. They never talked about it again, but he could see, sometimes, how it would catch Johnny's eye when it got out from under his shirt.</p><p> </p><p>He remembers when they first met, Jackie and him. Shit, he's actually thankful he took that job from Kirk that day, otherwise they probably would've never crossed paths, and that would've been somehow even more tragic than their actual fate. Both of them looking for the same fucking car, both of them getting busted by the NCPD. <em>I feel a connection, </em>Jackie had said when they got out, and they went for lunch without knowing what was waiting for them in the future, just two young mercs longing for greatness in a city that didn't remember anybody.</p><p> </p><p>These were the best years of his life. V can say it now; he'll be dead soon anyways. Doing shit gigs and shit money but celebrating every time, drinking themselves into oblivion just to start again the next day. Long, peaceful car rides talking about endless possibilities, nights spent at Misty's place smoking weed and dreaming of better things. They were so young, barely adults, early twenties, felt invincible, immortal, got shot and punched too many times but always got back on their feet, running to the nearest ripperdoc and spending money they didn't have just so Mama Welles wouldn't have to come get them at the hospital.</p><p> </p><p>To think all it took for both of them was one bullet... Oh, the irony.</p><p> </p><p>Shit, he can't think about this now. It's too recent, still, hurts too much. V swallows the lump in his throat, tries to push those memories in that faraway, dark place of his brain, the part where the demons hide, waiting for their moment to come out again. Issues he still can't address, names he still can't pronounce.</p><p> </p><p>“You should try and grieve him once and for all, you know,” Johnny's voice gets him out of his head. He's standing next to him, flesh and bones and warmth, but his eyes are cold, distant. He looks like a ghost from the past, he kind of is, just how V saw him in all those memories, angry and proud and tense, jaw clenched, dangerous.</p><p> </p><p>“Don't fucking tell me what to do.”</p><p> </p><p>V is annoyed, he's tensed up too, ready to snap, to jump at someone's throat at any second. Not just someone – in fact, he wants to jump at Johnny's throat and shove him against a wall, strangle him until he turns red then blue from lack of oxygen. His hands are itching to do something, to punch something, to grab something, he feels anger rise up his chest like lava, a volcano ready to explode, deadly and bitter.</p><p> </p><p>He wants to tell Johnny this is all his fault. The heist, Jackie's death, T-Bug's death, Evelyn's death, <em>his </em>death, Rogue's, everyone. He wants to scream and yell until he can't breathe anymore, he wants to punch the life out of him with his own two hands in case maybe, just maybe he'll feel better after.</p><p> </p><p>“Your friend's dead, I get it, but it's been a while. Get over it.”</p><p> </p><p>It's like Johnny was expecting him to break because he dodges the punch, grab his hair and smashes his face in the window, just like he did the first night they met. V grunts from the pain but he's stronger now and he's angrier, way, way angrier, so he elbows Johnny in the ribcage, it's clumsy but it's enough of a shock that he's released, and he releases his rage at the same time, all this fucking rage pent up inside him for so, so long, and Johnny becomes everything that ever went wrong in his life</p><p> </p><p>and suddenly they're on the floor and they're kicking and punching and shoving at each other with grunts and groans, animals going feral, their vision blurry and ears ringing, there's nothing else but the feeling of their knuckles crashing on a face, skin on skin, they fight dirty, both of them, they bite and they pull hair and push their fingers deep in flesh under the ribcage until the other shouts from the pain.</p><p> </p><p>One of them is bleeding, or maybe it's both of them, spitting blood and a tooth, split lips, bruises forming where they keep getting hit, noses swelling.</p><p> </p><p>It's strangely cathartic, though, hurting and getting hurt in return, it's freeing, minds are blank with anger and pain, the world is hazy, no words are spoken. Then Johnny is straddling V, sitting on his chest with a wild glint in his eyes, his metal hand gripping the neck, vulnerable and offered to him, it looks like, and he tightens his grip, watches the skin get white where blood doesn't reach, watches V struggle under him, squirming, punching and slapping but he can't breathe and the hits get progressively weaker, until he's red in the face and choking and his irises disappear in his skull and</p><p> </p><p>he lets go.</p><p> </p><p>V gasps violently as he sits up and pushes Johnny off of him, coughing and rasping and wiping away the wetness in his eyes. He catches his breath for a while, laid back down on the floor, his chest heaving quickly. Johnny watches him silently, seemingly lost in his thoughts, on his back next to him. He's out of breath too, face bruised black and blue. This'll take a while to heal on its own.</p><p> </p><p>“Fuck...” He sighs. “I'm sorry. I just... I wanted to hurt someone.”</p><p> </p><p>V scoffs. He knows the feeling.</p><p> </p><p>“S'okay. I get how you feel, believe me.”</p><p> </p><p>Johnny probably feels so guilty, he probably hates himself, keeps thinking about what he should've done differently all those years ago, a lifetime ago, he probably regrets so much of the things that happened but he knows deep inside that all the regrets in the world won't bring Rogue or Alt back, won't heal V, won't make him feel better.</p><p>And that's the worst part of it, really. The feeling of uselessness, of being powerless in the face of everything. That's what keeps wounds open and red and bleeding.</p><p> </p><p>V blames himself for Jackie's death, too. He keeps replaying in his mind a scenario where everything turns out differently, where they get out of the penthouse before Yorinobu and Saburo get there, where they just hand the relic to Dexter and go back to El Coyote Cojo to drink and party until they collapse, where Mama Welles takes care of them the next day, gives them her secret hangover cure while she grumbles that she's getting too old for this.</p><p> </p><p>Sometimes, when he can't sleep at night, V will let himself believe this is all real, believe that he'll wake up the next day and pick up Jackie at his apartment so they can head to their next job together. He'll fall asleep with a smile on his face, will dream of the things that could have been.</p><p> </p><p>He always wakes up miserable the next day, when he remembers that the reality is far uglier, far more painful.</p><p> </p><p>The truth is, he doesn't know how to grieve in his situation. He doesn't know how to make it better. Misty told him he has to let go but he just can't, because what if he forgets? What if he pushes the memory so deep inside himself that it fades to nothing, a grainy, mute film in sepia tones like the rest of his memories? He doesn't want Jackie to become just some thing of the past, a faceless silhouette of whom he can't remember the name without thinking long and hard about it first.</p><p>He needs to remember.</p><p> </p><p>“It's that she died at the hands of fucking Smasher, of all things, that asshole she hated so much-” Johnny's voice is a strangled whisper, his right arm hiding his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>He sounds so hurt, and so lost, and V sits up next to him, places a tentative hand on his shoulder. It's tight when he touches it, Johnny's whole body is tight, muscles flexing, slightly trembling.</p><p> </p><p>“She chose to come with you,” V says quietly. “She had the choice and she took it. It's not your fault. She was with you until the end.”</p><p> </p><p>“Exactly!” A fist hitting the ground. “She came because I asked her to. Shouldn't have involved her in this.” He sits up too, his back against the wall.</p><p> </p><p>“I'll tell you the same thing Misty told me about Jackie. Hopefully, you'll be better at it than me,” V scoffs. He's in no place to give advice, but fuck him if he won't. “Don't make her death about yourself. She was her own person with her own soul. Blaming yourself is taking the value of her life away from her. She's bigger than her death, you owe it to her to remember the life she lived, the choices she made.” He takes a brief pause. Johnny still hasn't moved. “Shit, Johnny, I know how hard it is. I can't even do it myself. But you have to try, at least. You won't heal if you don't.”</p><p> </p><p>Johnny doesn't answer. He stays still, forehead on his knees, hugging his legs. Fragile. V has never seen him like this, fuck, he doesn't even think <em>Johnny </em>has ever seen himself like this. Funny, what loss does to people.</p><p> </p><p>It takes a while for V to register it, the slight shifting on his right, the shoulders trembling. And then he hears. Sobs painfully swallowed back, the strangled sounds of someone who doesn't want to cry. He hesitates on what to do, maybe he should give the other man his space, but he also thinks about himself, when <em>he </em>was the one sobbing on the floor after he lost a friend, and just how much he wanted, how much he needed someone to be with him, someone to touch him and hold him until he was dried out and exhausted.</p><p> </p><p>So he circles Johnny's shoulders with an arm in silence, braces himself for rejection but nothing happens so he brings him closer, tightens his hold, stays. And then the unexpected happens, Johnny breaks, shattered in a thousand pieces, wretched sobs fighting their way out of him, aching, and it lasts forever because Johnny has so much to cry for, years and years of pain and sorrow thoroughly pushed back and camouflaged, so many people to grief, so much repressed emotions to let out.</p><p> </p><p>V cries with him silently, tears slowly dripping down his chin, soaking his neck and collarbone, and the day stretches into the night, and V's ass is numb, his legs are too, but he stays with Johnny, two grown men sobbing pathetically on the dirty floor of some shitty apartment, but fuck, how good can it feel, at times, to just let go, to just abandon appearances and <em>feel.</em></p><p> </p><p>They fall asleep at some point and wake up hurting everywhere and Johnny lights up a cigarette in silence, ends up chain smoking a whole pack until V takes it from him and throws it somewhere on the floor, and then he takes Johnny by the arm and walks him to the bed, practically has to force him to lie down because the other man keeps saying he doesn't mind sleeping on the couch, it's fine, but V insists until he finally rolls his eyes and says <em>ok,you win, </em>and he falls back asleep in seconds.</p><p> </p><p>V takes the couch himself, and he feels lighter than he did the day before. It's good.</p><p> </p><p>When he wakes up in the morning, it's to the smell of coffee and the sound of someone swearing in the kitchen. He smiles before he even opens his eyes, takes his time to start up his mind before he sits.</p><p> </p><p>“Fucking cock-sucking piece of shit, you'd think coffee machines would be simple to handle motherfuck-”</p><p> </p><p>V doesn't want Johnny to know he's watching but he can't hold back the loud snort that escapes him as he watches the older man struggle to brew a pot of coffee. There's something precious about this, Johnny being overwhelmed with new technology he doesn't know. When he thinks about it, the man did spend the last fifty years stuck in Mikoshi. Obviously, he's not going to be familiar with the stuff that seems so natural to V.</p><p> </p><p>Johnny turns to him so fast V thinks his neck might snap.</p><p> </p><p>“What the fuck is up with this useless piece of trash?” The man nearly screams with annoyance. “Why does coffee need to be complicated? It's beans and hot water, for fuck's sake!”</p><p> </p><p>“Need a hand with that, Johnny?” V pushes him out of the way with a shove of his hip as he takes the pot in his hands. “I mean, I know you're old, but who would've thought you'd be overwhelmed by this, of all things...”</p><p> </p><p>“Fuck. You.”</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, I'm just saying! Don't shoot the messenger.”</p><p> </p><p>Johnny grumbles something but lets V take charge nonetheless, arms crossed on his chest. He's wearing one of V's tank tops and jeans, and he looks... soft. Morning hair, a pillow mark on his left cheek, sleepy eyes and the 8AM aura of the sun shining behind him. Does he look like that every morning? Is V going to wake up to that sight every day during their trip, having to swallow hard because he still can't believe this is happening, because Johnny being there and alive still feels so unreal?</p><p> </p><p>He's not sure he can handle that. It's a lot of emotions for a dying man.</p><p> </p><p>V hands him a cup of coffee with a smirk. “There you go, grandpa. You know, next time you can ask for my help directly instead of making a scene so I come save you.”</p><p> </p><p>“T'was supposed to be a nice gesture, but fuck me, I guess,” Johnny grumbles, and V stops breathing for a second.</p><p> </p><p>He remembers what happened the day before. Remembers why Johnny has a black eye and a swollen nose. Remembers why his face aches. He also remembers the both of them being complete messes, crying themselves to sleep on the floor.</p><p>He smiles.</p><p> </p><p>“Thanks,” he says, and they don't need to talk about it much more, the brief moment their eyes meet is enough, that acknowledgement of what happened, the small nod. It's really the only thing they need, knowing that this wasn't just some passing instant, knowing it meant something, knowing they're friends, and not alone.</p><p> </p><p>They leave the place in early afternoon, pack everything they own in the Caliburn, head to the border of the city. They don't know yet where they'll stop first; for now, though, they just want to get out there, somewhere, see something other than buildings and neon signs and trash and the abyss of Night City.</p><p> </p><p>“I never realized how much of a reckless driver you were until now,” Johnny says as they're rolling down the streets, and even though his words might imply that he's tense, whenV turns to look at him he's completely comfortable, slouched in his seat, reaching for a pack of cigarettes in his pocket.</p><p> </p><p>“You know what they say. I got nothin' to live for and I drive like it.”</p><p> </p><p>“It's of circumstances now more than ever.”</p><p> </p><p>“Exactly.”</p><p> </p><p>They smile at the window, both of them, gaze fixed on something in the horizon, a building or a cloud or a person, an V hears Johnny chuckle, and when he shoots him a questionning glance, Johnny just says <em>you're such an idiot </em>and takes a drag of his cigarette with the corners of his lips still curved up, stretches his legs to rest his feet on the dash.</p><p> </p><p>“And you say I'm the reckless one,” V mutters, but Johnny just says <em>shut up and drive, </em>and so he does.</p><p> </p><p>The sun is still high in the sky when they finally cross the sign that tells them they're leaving Night City, don't forget to come back soon, and they roll with the windows open, let the wind mess up their hair and their faces, but it's so good to feel it collide with their skin, warp around it, carry the heat inside the car and dry their sweat at the same time.</p><p> </p><p>V looks at the desert road ahead, the mountains in the distance. He's driving fast, rolling past countless cars, and a few people honk at him but he doesn't really care, he feels good and free and he can't wait to see what life looks like outside Night City. He kind of wants to turn on the radio but he knows that Johnny will complain about the music so he keeps to himself, enjoys the silence. For once, it doesn't feel heavy.</p><p> </p><p>“You ever been outside Night City?” He asks after a while, when they enter another town, smaller, and stop at a drive-through to get something to eat.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, during the war, but I didn't get to go sightseeing much.” He takes a brief pause before starting again. “This'll be nice, I think,” he says, much lower.</p><p> </p><p>V smiles as he orders, keeps smiling when he gets to the window to grab his food. The employee, a teenager with curly red hair and golden framed glasses, watches them with wide eyes as she hands V the bag and wishes them a good day. She's got no visible cyberware, so V thinks maybe she's not used to seeing so much, but she's sweet so it doesn't matter.</p><p> </p><p>They eat in the parking lot and Johnny steals most of his fries with a shit-eating grin while V looks for things to do in the area.</p><p> </p><p>“There's a 'museum of curiosities' not far from here”, he says, even though he has no idea what that entails.</p><p> </p><p>“And why do I care?”</p><p> </p><p>“I wanna see it. Apparently, they have a taxidermy giraffe.”</p><p> </p><p>Johnny scoffs. “What are we still doing here?” As sarcastic as he is, V can still hear a tinge of something genuine in his voice, something like fondness or happiness. Maybe Johnny feels good, too. Maybe he likes the air here as much as V does.</p><p> </p><p>The museum isn't big and its biggest attraction is obviously the giraffe whose name is Nancy, but there's still a few interesting things, namely an old phone with buttons and an old-fashioned photo booth that V has only seen in early century movies.</p><p> </p><p>“It's still functional, if you want,” the guide tells them. “Fifty eurodollars for the experience and a strip of four photos!”</p><p> </p><p>“I used to fuck in those when I was a teenager,” Johnny says with a grin. “Got caught a couple times, too.”</p><p> </p><p>“You telling me we're gonna fuck in this booth, Silverhand?”</p><p> </p><p>“You wish.”</p><p> </p><p>Johnny winks as he gets behind the curtain and V follows him with a chuckle. Outside of Night City, things seem so different, like another sun is shining here, like the air is fresher, the colours more vibrant. Maybe it's just because they're finally free, the both of them, that they have this impression, free from the war and the corps and death and darkness, but V couldn't care less for the reason, because it's just so, so good to be able to close his eyes without having flashes of people getting shot, of heads rolling on the ground.</p><p> </p><p>“So what am I supposed to do?” V asks when they're both sitting very, very close and he can smell his shampoo and cigarette smoke on Johnny's hair.</p><p> </p><p>“It flashes four times. You just strike a pose, kid,” Johnny answers, leaning back. He hits the button with one foot and a robotic voice starts a three-seconds countdown.</p><p> </p><p>V's kind of caught off guard by the first flash but he's ready when the second one comes, imitates Johnny's crossed arms and his poker face and it makes the other man smile, shove him to the side to take more place and V pushes him away with a hand on his face. It's over fast, the robotic voice thanks them and it's kind of creepy how emotionless it sounds compared to the AI that replaced them now.</p><p> </p><p>The photos are a bit grainy, a bit blurry, and it makes them look younger, less tired, almost carelessly happy. Old technology has many flaws but it doesn't lie, it shows things just as they are, and maybe in that one precise moment, that's what they were; young and happy.</p><p>The magic fades, though, and soon it's only a lingering presence in the museum, but V can feel in his pocket the photo strip, history being made, a memory that'll outlive him.</p><p> </p><p>It's somewhat comforting knowing that when he'll be gone this'll still be there, a tangible piece of him, not an engram or a 3D rendition or a holovid of him somewhere in cyberspace. This strip will exist in physical space and someone, probably Misty, will take care of it, keep it away from the sun so it doesn't fade, maybe protect it with glass, and in that way ensure that he's never forgotten, that the memory is kept alive and that hearts remember.</p><p> </p><p>He wonders what people will say about him when he'll be gone. All he's ever wanted was to live on as a legend, but he never took the time to think, really think, about what it meant to be a legend. Johnny's one and most people still think of him as a terrorist and an asshole, which, okay, he kind of is, but he's also much more. What will they say about V? Are they going to tell great stories of the jobs he did, of the people he saved and the corps he brought down, or are they going to talk about all the people he killed, the people that suffered because of him, the stuff he stole from honest people and the drugs he sold to kids way, way back?</p><p> </p><p>He knows he's not a hero, nor is he a particularly good person, but like most things grey, society likes to see them as just black or white. It's a risky bet to make.</p><p> </p><p>Now, though, he doesn't care about everyone's opinion as much as a few carefully selected people's. Will they mourn him? He has this sinking feeling, sometimes, that he's just a cloud passing through people's lives, bringing shadows and darkness with him and that it's only when he's gone that they can finally see the sun again. They're fine, and then they meet him and they're not so fine anymore.</p><p> </p><p>His thoughts are interrupted by a violent coughing fit and he stumbles before Johnny catches him and circles his waist with a strong metal arm. He spots the guide looking worried, vaguely hears Johnny mumble something about an implant malfunction as he walks him out of there and V spits blood on his shirt, is shoved into the Caliburn's passenger seat.</p><p> </p><p>“I need you to give me your key,” Johnny says, squatting next to him, and it takes V a while to register the words, realize he's talking about the car's key and transfer it to him.</p><p> </p><p>His head is pounding and his brain is boiling, he can feel his hands shaking with the seizure, Johnny's heavy gaze on the side of his face. It takes a couple long minutes before his mind clears up again, before he can think and move and talk.</p><p> </p><p>“I think you traumatized our guy back there,” Johnny says when he comes back to the world.</p><p> </p><p>V chuckles. “Yeah, I saw that. Thanks, by the way.” <em>It's nice not having to deal with myself alone, </em>he doesn't add. He's so used now to collapsing in the middle of the street without anyone offering help, having to crawl on all fours to someplace he can sit for a few seconds while he gathers back strength, Johnny watching him handle it by himself, completely powerless.</p><p> </p><p>Johnny is clearly the better driver between the both of them, fast but precise. When V mentions it, the other man scoffs but he straigthens his shoulders slightly, obviously proud of himself. “That's because back in my day people actually <em>learned </em>how to drive instead of winging it and paying a fuckton of money for insurance.”</p><p> </p><p>“Alright, old man, I get it, your generation is better than mine,” V waves a hand in dismissal, grins when Johnny flips him off.</p><p> </p><p>They stop at a motel somwhere in North Carolina as the sun slowly disappears behind the horizon. It looks a lot cleaner than most motels in Night City, and for a while, V wonders if they're in a very conservative state or if Night City is really this trashy. Maybe it's a bit of both. Either way, it's nice not having to wonder when's the last time someone died in the room.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, Blue Ridge Mountains,” V says when he spots a poster over one of the beds, “isn't that from that song?”</p><p> </p><p>“Don't.”</p><p> </p><p>“Shit, we should go there tomorrow.”</p><p> </p><p>“We won't. I'll take a detour so you don't even see them.”</p><p> </p><p>“Fine, I'll drive, then.” V snorts when he hears Johnny's long-suffering sigh. He takes his tequila bottle out of his backpack and takes a long gulp, hands it to Johnny, who does the same.</p><p> </p><p>For someone who's had his body frozen for more than fifty years, the man as a surprisingly high alchool tolerance. V is already plastered when Johnny's only tipsy, but he gets there after a while, both of them ending up drunk and giving each other dares.</p><p> </p><p>“I dare you to sing it,” V says.</p><p> </p><p>“Sing what?”</p><p> </p><p>“You know what.”</p><p> </p><p>Johnny looks like he's thinking really hard about it for a few seconds and when the realization dawns, he gives V a deathly stare.</p><p> </p><p>“No.”</p><p> </p><p>“Then you lose. Wow. What a loser. Can't even sing one song.”</p><p> </p><p>“Fuck you. M'not gonna do it. S'against the rules. Can't make me sing it.”</p><p> </p><p>“M'drunk but not that drunk,” V slurs. “I know there're no rules.”</p><p> </p><p>“Then I dare you to shoot... This bottle,” he says, pointing the nearly empty tequila bottle besides him, “off my head.”</p><p> </p><p>“Done.”</p><p> </p><p>They get out of the room eagerly, both giggling like teenagers and trying to make as little noise as they can. Obviously they're not as subtle as they think the are, but they're having fun and they're not thinking about the worse things in their lives, about the people they're missing and the fact that V's dying. They just tiptoe to a nearby tree and Johnny stands in front of it, balances the bottle on his head while V tries to focus his gaze long enough to be able to aim properly.</p><p> </p><p>Everything is just kind of moving in slow waves around him, slightly blurry, and when he moves his head too fast he feels like he's going to fall and he stumbles a couple times, but then he looks back at Johnny and things stop spinning inside and outside of him.</p><p>He aims.</p><p>Johnny is standing with his arms open and a huge grin on his face, eyes glassy but so, so beautiful, it's amazing, really, what lightness can do to one person, how much it can change the way they are and the way we see them.</p><p> </p><p>V licks his lips, is vaguely aware of the look the other man shoots him, hot and heady, and he smiles back, pulls the trigger. The bullet whistles through the wind, thank God for silencers, and a fraction of a second later the bottle promptly shatters on Johnny's head, alchool soaking his hair, fragments of glass shining like stars under the moonlight.</p><p> </p><p>There's a second where they both stay silent, a little stunned that V actually <em>did it, </em>and maybe that nobody got hurt in the process, too, except for the tree that took the bullet.</p><p> </p><p>“You could've killed me, you asshole!” Johnny shouts but he doesn't sound angry, shocked, maybe, and a little impressed, too. His eyes are smiling.</p><p> </p><p>“You asked for it! You did! And now you have to sing. T'was part of the deal.”</p><p> </p><p>“I don't remember agreeing to that.”</p><p> </p><p>“Maybe, but you're drunk so your argument is invalid. Now come on, Country roads...” V starts singing, gesturing for Johnny to keep going. The other man rolls his eyes but follows nonetheless, grumbling lyrics as he picks shards of glass off his hair.</p><p> </p><p>“Take me home... To the place... I beloooong!” He smiles wider as he sings and V joins in, both hands thrown in the air, screaming at the top of his lungs: “WEST VIRGINIA! MOUNTAIN MAMA!”</p><p> </p><p>It's a happy, freeing moment quickly interrupted by an annoyed voice yelling at them to shut up, somewhere in the dark around them, to which Johnny yells back <em>fuck you! </em>and they snort and run back to the motel, lock the door behind them, just in case.</p><p> </p><p>“You're a loud drunk, you know that?” Johnny tells V when they're inside. “A loud, obnoxious drunk.”</p><p> </p><p>“Awwww, and you,” V starts, poking the other man's chest with a finger, “you are still an asshole!” And then he throws up.</p><p> </p><p>Things pass kind of in a blur after that, between Johnny laughing at him and him hugging the toilet bowl, but it's not that bad, in fact, it reminds V of those nights with Jackie, a long time ago, when they always tried to outdrink the other and ended up way too close to getting alchool poisoning.</p><p>He's vaguely aware of shivering against the cold ceramic tiles of the bathroom floor, a blanket being thrown on his back and someone patting his head. He blacks out shortly after, his mind peacefully blank.</p><p> </p><p>V remembers why he stopped drinking so much all those years ago when he wakes up. The pounding in his head makes him want to die faster than he already is, his whole body is aching from sleeping on the bathroom floor. He spits into the toilet bowl, trying to remove the acrid taste in his mouth but it does nothing if not make him feel even more nauseous.</p><p> </p><p>“Fuck me...” He mumbles, sitting up straighter.</p><p> </p><p>He waits for his head to stop spinning before standing, takes a few minutes to collect himself as he stands in front of the mirror. Shit, he needs water, badly. The sun is high in the sky outside. He wonders how Johnny feels. He wouldn't hate to see him as hangover as he is right now. A payback for that time V let him take control and he got utterly wasted, only to leave him alone to deal with his life the morning after.</p><p> </p><p>He's still sound asleep, lying on his stomach over the covers, face burried in the pillows. His limbs are sprawled on the matress like he's trying to take as much place as possible, an unlit cigarette still between his fingers.</p><p>He has a great back, though. Shirtless like that, his pale, freckled skin on display, a weird, colorful tattoo on his shoulderblade, he looks normal, human, nothing like the heartless terrorist he's supposed to be, the asshole rockstar everyone thinks he is. He still looks a little bit like all these things, obviously, but not as much. He has two dimples on his lower back. V kind of wants to touch them, brush a finger lightly on the spine between them, get lower, and lower, and-</p><p> </p><p>He realizes he's staring and tears his eyes off the man, instead focusing on getting a glass of water and maybe get a pot of coffee brewing, while he's at it, but the image follows him, the memory of it burned on his retina, and he grinds his teeth, tells himself he's just horny because he hasn't had sex or even masturbated in months, that he'll rub one out in the shower and everything will be just fine.</p><p> </p><p>It's the smell of the cigarette that V has lit off that wakes Johnny up, groaning as he lifts himself on his elbows, eyes still closed, red streaks stamped on his cheeks from the pillows. He grumbles something unintelligible as he walks to the bathroom, closes the door behind him, and proceeds to throw up – loudly. V chuckles as he pours him a large cup of coffee. Clearly, he'll need it.</p><p> </p><p>“Why do I have glass in my hair?” Johnny asks when he gets out, his voice raspy.</p><p> </p><p>“I think... I think I smashed a bottle on your head or something.” V's memory is foggy. He does remember the sound of glass shattering, the dust that looked like stars under the moonlight. The strong smell of tequila filling the air around him.</p><p> </p><p>He doesn't realize Johnny's gone until he comes back in the room, still gloriously shirtless, sunglasses on and handing him a small bottle of pills. “Hangover cure,” he says when V takes it. Thanks heaven for the future.</p><p> </p><p>They don't talk much more than that, hoping to get rid of the headache as soon as possible. They just kind of exist in the same space, living their separate lives together, enjoying the moment of peace and the silence surrounding them. They'll leave the place tomorrow morning, when they both have enough energy to appreciate the journey and maybe even climb a mountain on the way. Johnny won't say it, but V knows he doesn't mind this stop. He catches him smiling at the poster twice.</p><p> </p><p>Johnny stays shirtless all day and at one point, it becomes difficult for V to focus on anything else. He tries to be discreet about it, not to stare at the other man too openly, but it's hard with him on display like that, especially when he gets out of the shower later in the day with droplets of water pearling on his shoulders, hair still damp and his skin flushed.</p><p> </p><p>He's never thought about him like that before, when they shared a brain. Maybe it was the weirdness of the situation, the fact that it felt nearly incestuous to see him that way, but he does know that now, now it feels different, a lot more real and so much more appealing. It feels like a possibility more than a fantasy, and it makes V feel uneasy, because he knows virtually nothing about Johnny's sexuality; it's not like they talked about it much, and Johnny knows nothing about his either because his sex life has been virtually nonexistent ever since he got the relic. It's not like he was in the right headspace for that anyways.</p><p> </p><p>So V tries to ignore the warmth that blooms in his abdomen whenever he looks at Johnny.</p><p> </p><p>They watch TV a bit, sitting next to each other on the bed, an old movie with guns and explosions. Later in the night, Johnny pulls out his guitar from its case and strums a few chords gently, his gaze somewhat hazy, like he's been sucked in his memories, can't come back out. He plays the same melody on loop, staring at the wall in front of him, and when he doesn't snap out of it V gives his leg a small shove, just enough that he registers the touch and crawls out of his own mind.</p><p> </p><p>He does. It takes a few second, but his gaze clears gradually and it's like he wakes up. He doesn't turn to look at V but when he shuffles back up, straighter, he's gotten closer.</p><p> </p><p>He hums lyrics as he starts a new song and the sound of his deep, husky voice sends a shiver down V's spine.</p><p>He knows this song, he's heard it a thousand times before. Nearly a hundred years old, stuff his grandparents used to listen to that somehow never really lost its popularity, and he smiles, imagines a young Johnny hearing it for the first time, trying to replicate the chords, or maybe looking for the tabs online and practising and practising until he gets it perfectly.</p><p> </p><p>“You can sing, you know,” he says with his eyes closed. “I don't mind.”</p><p> </p><p>Johnny scoffs, doesn't add anything, but then his voice fills the air, louder, words floating around them, vibrating inside of V, somwhere in his ribcage. It's a broken voice that has screamed to much, drank too much and smoked too much but it has this rich, flowy tone in it, thick like honey.</p><p> </p><p>“When you were here before</p><p>Couldn't look you in the eye</p><p>You're just like an angel</p><p>Your skin makes me cry</p><p>You float like a feather</p><p>In a beautiful world</p><p>I wish I was special</p><p>You're so fuckin' special”</p><p> </p><p>V watches him from the corner of his eyes, he's focused on his hands, fingers carressing the strings, a few strands of hair falling on his forehead to the tip of his nose. He's relaxed, opens his mouth only slightly to sing, pink lips parted, and V can practically see the words flowing out of them one after the other without any effort.</p><p> </p><p>He whispers along with the chorus, to himself, mostly, but also to Johnny, just so he knows he's appreciating the moment, just so he knows he feels good. They kind of suck at communicating with words, relish in the non-verbal, gestures and glances and thoughts shared, but they'll get there eventually, they'll get used to being different persons, to talking.</p><p> </p><p>“But I'm a freak</p><p>I'm a weirdo</p><p>What the hell am I doing here?</p><p>I don't belong here”</p><p> </p><p>It's good.</p><p> </p><p>They're good.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>there it is! i like playing with the canon a little, for example, my V has met Jackie when they were both younger and so have known each other for years. there are two songs featured in this chapter that y'all probably know very well, but i'll mention them just in case: we got Country Roads and Radiohead's Creep, two great classics of our time. i hope you liked this chapter, don't forget to comment and leave kudos, it's always really appreciated! see you for the next one ♥</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i'm back with a new chapter! this one gets pretty heavy but we also learn more about V's past. i mean, i can't imagine he's lived a happy life. </p><p>anyways, a couple trigger warnings apply for this chapter:</p><p>TW for (canon-typical) violence<br/>TW for discussion of trauma<br/>TW for panic attack<br/>TW for use of drugs (in this case, weed)</p><p>that's all! ♥</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>V wakes up in the middle of the night. He's still sitting on the bed, his back against the wall, and the lights are off. He doesn't remember doing that. His eyes slowly get used to the darkness around and switch to night vision, and when he feels something shift on his right, he turns his head to see Johnny, on his stomach, asleep under the covers. He probably didn't want to wake him up so he let V in the same position he fell asleep in, fingers laced on his stomach, head falling backwards.</p><p> </p><p>The guitar is back in its case, in the corner of the room, and the only sounds breaking the silence are Johnny's soft breaths, inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale.</p><p> </p><p>He could get back to his bed. He should get back to his bed. Undress, fall back asleep and wake up tomorrow morning, well rested and without any back pain. But he's good, here. It's warm and comfortable, and even if he knows his neck will hurt in the morning, V finds he could not care less. There's this... Closeness that bloomed between Johnny and him in the past days, something he's not used to, something foreign that he doesn't quite recognize. He's pretty sure it's not the first time he's experiencing this, however, he can't seem to remember anything about it.</p><p> </p><p>It's true that they share something unique, with them literally having lived in the same body for a while, but it's more obvious now that they are apart, and V finds himself longing for the other man's presence, for any form of contact. The light brush of a hand on his shoulder, a stupid joke to fill the space, a laugh, a glance.</p><p>Shit, that's so fucking cheesy. Why does he feel so... pathetic? Needy? Maybe it's not normal, maybe he should talk to Viktor about it. Could be separation anxiety, or something akin to that. V swallows back a chuckle. If it really is separation anxiety, he's even more of a mess than he always thought.</p><p> </p><p>One last look to Johnny, still asleep, still peaceful, and V closes his eyes, lets his head fall back against the wall again. He'll think about all this tomorrow. For now, though, he'll enjoy the moment.</p><p> </p><p>He's woken up with a cup of coffee being shoved in his hands.</p><p> </p><p>“Rise and shine.”</p><p> </p><p>He takes a sip of coffee before even trying to open his eyes, too afraid the morning sun will burn his retina. It takes him a while to gather up the courage, and when he finally does, it's to complete darkness.</p><p> </p><p>“What the fuck?”</p><p> </p><p>“Didn't you want to go hiking?”</p><p> </p><p>“Uh, yeah, during the day.”</p><p> </p><p>He hears Johnny's long-suffering sigh on his left more than he sees it, but he's too tired to fight so he does as he's told and hops in the shower, still drunk on sleep, gets ready to leave the motel. They won't come back here so he makes sure they haven't forgotten anything – well, Johnny makes sure they haven't forgotten anything because he apparently <em>doesn't trust V with his stuff at all – </em>which, rude, but V has to admit he's not particularly careful with his things.</p><p>Johnny's the one driving and V is fast to fall back asleep in the car, resting against the window, lulled by the gentle vibration of tires rolling on asphalt. He dreams of cigarette smoke and sunglasses and a husky voice singing words he doesn't understand, of a familiar melody, of long, endless country roads ahead of him and warmth surrounding him. He won't remember anything about it, but it's nice while it lasts.</p><p> </p><p>He doesn't know for how long they've been on the road, but he knows it's the silence that wakes him up, the motor's white noise suddenly stopped, nothing else to replace it. It's still dark outside but he's a lot more rested now, so he finally asks Johnny what the fuck he's planning.</p><p> </p><p>“Would you <em>stop </em>asking questions for once and just follow me blindly?”</p><p> </p><p>“Are you kidding? I follow you blindly all the time!”</p><p> </p><p>Johnny thinks for a while before shrugging with a grin. “Then what's once more?”</p><p> </p><p>He hates him. He hates him. He wishes he could. Wishes he could just tell him to fuck off with his arrogance and assumptions that V can't think for himself, that no matter what, he'll always end up doing what's expected of him. He proved time and time again that he was more than a follower, that he could lead, make decisions and act on them, that he could say <em>no </em>and <em>go fuck yourself</em> to anyone.</p><p> </p><p>Anyone except Johnny.</p><p> </p><p>And it's infuriating, having this weakness and Johnny knowing about it, using it against him, mocking him.</p><p> </p><p>“You know, you really could use a punch in the face right about now,” he ends up saying, weary but annoyed.</p><p> </p><p>“I'll let you punch me if it makes you stop whining so fucking much.” Johnny gets closer to him. “Come on, let's get this over with,” he smirks, cocky and confident and really, really fucking punchable.</p><p> </p><p>So, yeah, V does what's expected of him, again, but this time he has the satisfaction of hearing Johnny's nose crack under his fist, of seeing blood gush out of it like a fountain. One could say it's beautiful. The groan it gets out of him sends a shiver down V's spine, a strange mix of fulfillment and arousal that settles deep in his abdomen, a fire burning hot inside him. Johnny looks at him with a hand covering the bottom of his face, dark red with blood, and in his eyes shines something intense, something that ignites this scorching flame in V and keeps it alive.</p><p> </p><p>Johnny closes the distance between them and grabs the front of V's t-shirt, keeping him close, and for one short moment V thinks he might kiss him or beat the shit out of him, both of those equally plausible options, really, but nothing of the sort happens. After a few seconds that moment passes, and Johnny releases him with a sigh, and the glint in his eyes has vanished along with V's fire.</p><p> </p><p>“Let's go on that hike,” Johnny lets out, finally, and he walks to a trail without looking back.</p><p> </p><p>The walk isn't as long as what V expected, and he realizes where they are only when they get on top of the mountain, the fresh morning air filling his lungs, sky blood orange and without a cloud anywhere to be seen. There's a mist, lower, floating over the trees, kind of surreal, really, just existing between mountains like something magical, like it's always been there.</p><p> </p><p>The sun is rising slowly before them, a subtle reminder of the passage of time when everything else stands still. V can't hide the smile that draws itself on his lips. He feels kind of bad for Johnny, though; the guy only wanted to bring him here and V broke his nose. That's what keeps the relationship exciting, he guesses.</p><p> </p><p>“I think I owe you an apology,” he says after a moment of silence.</p><p> </p><p>“Ya think?”</p><p> </p><p>Johnny's face is covered in dry blood, a brownish red staining his chin and his neck. He looks kind of miserable, with his nose all purple and swelled up, but even like this, he has this natural charisma that makes him kind of look good, the rockerboy persona that matches the aesthetic. It must be uncomfortable, though, stiff on his skin, somewhat painful. Luckily for him, though, he's wandering around with a merc that has a habit of getting himself into more trouble than he can truly handle. Those medical supplies always come in handy.</p><p> </p><p>V searches in his bag for some stuff to patch up Johnny with, reduce the swelling, clean his face. He his, after all, partially responsible for this predicament – only partially, though, since Johnny is the one that offered to take a punch.</p><p> </p><p>“Come here,” he says, gestures for Johnny to sit in front of him.</p><p> </p><p>Their knees are touching and they both have to lean forward, really, it's not the most comfortable position, but it does the trick. Neither of them says a word, as if they fear it would make things awkward, and V works silently, with feather-like touches under the morning sun.</p><p>It's a weird thing to do, perhaps, but it's not <em>strange. </em>Maybe it's strangely natural, how V softly wipes the blood off Johnny's face, or how Johnny closes his eyes under the brushing of fingers on his skin. How they both breathe with their lips parted, sharing oxygen, trusting.</p><p> </p><p>V sets the nose as delicately as he can, even though he knows the other man can take it. Johnny does grunt as the cartilage pops back in place, clenches his teeth, but doesn't talk, doesn't whine, doesn't even jolt back from the touch. He stays exactly where he is, doesn't comment on how long V's fingers linger on his face.</p><p> </p><p>“Good as new,” V smiles with the corner of his mouth, slaps Johnny's cheek playfully.</p><p> </p><p>They snack on some protein bars while they watch the sky get bluer with every passing minute. The breeze gets warmer, too, and the mist disappears, leaving behind emerald-green trees sparkling from the droplets of water covering their leaves.</p><p> </p><p>It's so far from anything V has ever seen in his life, so foreign and unknown, kind of magical looking, and he can't help but sigh as he thinks about how much of his life he's wasted on meaningless shit, completely oblivious to all this fucking beauty surrounding him. It's rare, beauty in Night City, so rare that when it does appear it feels unreal, like an illusion and you don't take the time to stop and truly look at it. The ugliness is just so much bolder.</p><p> </p><p>He wishes things would have gone differently. Not only the heist and the relic, but everything before as well, all those years wandering around on the streets, trying to make a buck and sinking deeper and deeper everyday. He wishes he'd left, back in the days, back when he was younger and had all life in front of him. Wishes he'd ran away to another city and never looked back. It would have been so much easier, he feels, without the constant pull of the streets and bad influences. He can't know for sure, but it would have at least made things more... normal.</p><p> </p><p>But now there he is, on his last breath, trying to imagine for the millionth time a life where he went down another road instead.</p><p> </p><p>The truth is, he's terrified of death. Positively terrified. Ironic, for a mercenary, it's true, but he's always been able to somewhat ignore that fear up until a few months ago. Now it's always there, looming over him, heavier everyday as he wonders if his time has finally come, if it's the last time he wakes up, or eats, or laughs, or thinks about Jackie, or looks at Johnny. Every single one of his actions could be the last. Every breath, every blink, every heartbeat could be one last moment forever frozen in time, and that would be it.</p><p> </p><p>“You okay there, V?” Johnny asks next to him, still looking at the sky, but V can see in his eyes a glint of concern.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters, takes a deep breath. “I was just thinking about... dying.”</p><p> </p><p>The words didn't come out quite like he expected, but Johnny doesn't seem surprised, in fact he looks anything but as he nods, leans back on his elbows.</p><p> </p><p>“You really suck at just enjoying things, do you?” He smiles.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” V snorts, “I really fucking suck.”</p><p> </p><p>“You should do yourself a favor and stop worrying for a while. Any day could be your last.”</p><p> </p><p>“Shit, thanks for reminding me. It's not as if that was always on my mind already.”</p><p> </p><p>“I'm not saying it like that, idiot. I'm telling you that you should take a pause from all your thinking for a few months and enjoy life for once. Allow yourself to breathe.”</p><p> </p><p>“You ever done that yourself?”</p><p> </p><p>“I have a lot of flaws but being afraid is not one of them.”</p><p> </p><p>“How humble.”</p><p> </p><p>They chuckle, a few seconds pass.</p><p> </p><p>“Alright, let's make a deal,” V declares, straightening up. “I'll try and let go of my fear if you do the same with your anger.”</p><p> </p><p>Johnny smiles that way he does when it's not to mock or to be arrogant. His face is neutral, save for those wrinkles at the outer corner of his eyes, that glowing softness in his irises. It's subtle, hidden, like many of Johnny's emotions, but it's true. It's real.</p><p>V likes when it happens because it makes him feel important, like he's witnessing a rare phenomenon that very few people have seen before, like it's something for him and him only. It's a nice feeling, warm and fuzzy.</p><p> </p><p>“Okay,” Johnny says after a while, a whisper mostly drowned out by the rustling of the leaves around them, the wind making its way through trees and branches. They nod, a silent agreement, go back to their contemplation, a whole world in front of them.</p><p> </p><p>V lets his feet dangle off the cliff, revels in that feeling of pure liberty that fills him, the speck of adrenaline that comes with it. He's never been so high before, and even though it's scary, that whole emptiness under him, it's exhilarating as well. On top of everything, one feels invincible.</p><p> </p><p>“Were you afraid before?” Johnny asks after a moment of silence.</p><p> </p><p>V shrugs. “I've always been scared. It just wasn't so... tangible before, I guess. I always thought it would come as a surprise, you know, getting shot on a job or something. I wasn't expecting a terminal illness, having to come to terms with my feelings about it. It's way worse than I thought it would be.”</p><p> </p><p>“Wasn't the idea of dying on the job more stressful, though? Knowing you could die at any time without having accomplished what you wanted?”</p><p> </p><p>“That how it felt like for you?”</p><p> </p><p>Johnny stares at the horizon for so long V wonders if he even heard that last question.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” he sighs finally. “You know how they say your whole life flashes in front of your eyes when you flatline? It's not exactly that, but there's still some truth to it. It's like sniffing some really good coke; your mind gets so clear when you realize it's the end, you barely have time to remember anything but fuck, the regrets are real.” He sounds defeated when he talks, shoulders slightly rounded, just like that time he saw his grave.</p><p> </p><p>“When you put it like that I can see how sad it is, I guess.”</p><p> </p><p>“It's infuriating, being powerless. I remember being so fucking angry, and then it was over.”</p><p> </p><p>“Dying angry, that sounds just like you,” V snorts softly, and Johnny slaps the back of his head. “Would you have regrets now?”</p><p> </p><p>The other man opens his mouth to talk but not a sound comes out of it before a few seconds. “Yeah,” he lets out, closes his eyes. V doesn't push. “Less than before, though. That's gotta count for something.”</p><p> </p><p>“You know,” V hesitates, “After Jackie, I promised myself I wouldn't let myself get close to anybody else. And yet, here you are.”</p><p> </p><p>“Cutting yourself off from the world just because your friend died is a shit way to grieve.”</p><p> </p><p>“That's the thing, though. It wasn't <em>just </em>Jackie. It was so many people before and his death was the last one I could take.”</p><p> </p><p>V doesn't know for how long they stay still, silent and somber, before Johnny talks.</p><p> </p><p>“Tell me why the beach,” he whispers, and it's not a question, per se, perhaps it's more of a request, or an order to finally let things out. Maybe he's feeling it too, that grief rising up in V like lava, a volcano ready to explode, a need to just let it burst out of him like Johnny himself had, that first night he got back.</p><p> </p><p>It's not like V doesn't trust Johnny with it, because he does, so fucking much, probably too much, even, it's that he doesn't trust himself with it. He's been pushing down those feelings and memories for so long that he's not sure anymore what they're really like, whether he can handle them or not. He worries he won't be able to come back from it, to crawl back up from that abyss, dark and infinite.</p><p> </p><p>He thinks about what Johnny just told him, about regrets, and decides that maybe he should let go, maybe this'll lift a weight off his shoulders and help him come to terms with his reality.</p><p>He closes his eyes, inhales deeply.</p><p> </p><p>“I remember running around in the sand and feeling free, the salty smell of the wind and the sound of waves crashing at my feet. I remember dipping my toes in the water and the sun burning my skin. I remember swimming as far as I could, my mother yelling at me to come back to the shore. I remember throwing handfuls of sand at my sister to piss her off.</p><p> </p><p>“Most of my memories are blurry, but this one is clearer than the rest. I think it's the last time I've ever felt truly happy. I guess I want to experience it one last time, do the full circle,” he shrugs. “They died a week after that. It was two days before my sister and mine's birthday, we went to a restaurant with our grandparents since they were in town for the weekend.</p><p> </p><p>“I mean, it was more of a diner. We didn't have much money so it was a big deal to go out to eat. Some maelstroms came in while we were waiting for dessert, started shooting everybody. We were the first table next to the door. My mom was the first one to die. I remember the look in her eyes clear as day. She didn't even have the time to realize what was happening before her head exploded.</p><p> </p><p>“It was chaos, after that, people screaming and crying and guns firing and those psychos were fucking laughing, went after the owner when he tried to hide in the kitchen. Val, she got shot in the neck and she was still breathing on the floor with so much blood flowing out of her and I tried to... I don't know, do something, at least, but I was seven and I didn't have a fucking clue of what to do so I just cried and tried to contain all the blood but it was dripping between my fingers and she was choking on it.</p><p> </p><p>“A girl came to me, told me we had to leave before they came back out, that we'd die here too if we didn't get a move on, but I didn't want to leave Val because she was still holding on, even though her eyes were getting glassy and she wasn't moving much anymore. The girl grabbed me by the arm and got me out of there and I was screaming for Val, I didn't want to leave her behind. I had to, and she died alone.</p><p> </p><p>“We ran to the girl's car and she told me she'd get us to a ripper she knew, that he'd patch us up. I had a bullet stuck in my shoulder, and the only reason it didn't get right through me was because it was slowed down from going through my mother first. I wasn't really feeling the pain, though, because the trauma was too fresh, still, and it hurt a lot more than any wound could've. The girl was wounded too, she was holding her stomach and driving on the sidewalk, and she nearly had to crawl out of the car once we got there.</p><p> </p><p>“She told me we would be safe there, that it was a hideout for her friends and her when they got hurt. I was still in shock and I didn't even process that I was getting carried by a guy that had come out to meet us. He got me on his table, told me his name was Viktor.” V smiles faintly as he recalls a younger Vik trying to calm him down. “He was in his twenties, back then, just started working as a ripper. He talked me through the whole thing, tried to make me think about something other than the feeling of his tweezers moving around in my shoulder, trying to dislodge the bullet. He ended up having to leave it there because there was too much chance that I would've ended up with my whole arm paralyzed.”</p><p> </p><p>“What about the girl?” Johnny asks softly, like he already knows the answer.</p><p> </p><p>“She died before she even got inside. Lost too much blood, and the bullet had perforated a bowel so it would've infected badly anyways. I stayed with Vik, after that. I had nowhere else to go to so he took me in, practically raised me, too. I grew up watching him disinfect and suture and make calls for someone to come pick up the bodies he couldn't save.</p><p> </p><p>“I think at one point he was expecting me to follow his steps. He'd teach me things, explain what he was doing when he was with a patient. I guess it would've been easier to walk down that path, but I needed more adrenaline if I wanted to blindly ignore my feelings. I think I got my first job at ten. Vik was the one who would talk with the fixers for me. He didn't want me to be manipulated or something.”</p><p> </p><p>He chuckles as he remembers Viktor dealing his pay for him, arms crossed and shoulders straight, protective without being overbearing.</p><p> </p><p>“I don't know what I would've done if it wasn't for him. Saved my life in more ways than one many times. He's the one person I've had close to me for the longest time in my life and shit, I kid you not, I have nightmares at leat once a week where I see him die. He's the only one with that knows about my past, too. I guess that makes two of you now.</p><p>Anyways, the beach is me wanting to go back to a time when things were easy.”</p><p> </p><p>There's something liberating in the way his words just float out in the air, rise in the infinite sky above him. He can almost see them disappear, and with them, part of the grief he's been carrying for so long. He's crying, he realizes, tears rolling down his cheeks and dripping on his thighs in a steady flow. It's a bittersweet moment, painful, yes, but healing as well.</p><p> </p><p>Johnny's hand hovers on his back, warmth radiating from his palm as he hesitates on what to do. He finally settles on the nape of his neck, skin on skin, fingers threading softly in V's hair. He doesn't say anything but his gaze is deep and intense, dark, shiny eyes peeking right into V's soul, taking him in.</p><p> </p><p>They smile. A subtle curve of lips, a brief glint in their irises.</p><p> </p><p>“Thanks for telling me,” Johnny murmurs finally, and as out of character as it seems at first glance, it's actually the realest he can be, raw and honest, a true friend. He has his own way of caring for people and he doesn't show his feelings in the best ways, but sometimes, sometimes he knows what the situation calls for and he says just the right thing.</p><p> </p><p>V likes to think he's like that only with him. His skin is tingling where it's covered with Johnny's hand, a shiver runs down his spine. He leans into the touch just a bit, just enough, closes his eyes, loses himself in the feeling.</p><p> </p><p>Around them, time has stopped. It's like they're protected by thick walls. Can't see anything else, can't hear anything else, can't feel anything else than each other. Voices seem to be coming from far away and the people passing by are just silhouettes, vague and blurry. There's something there, something that's filling the space around them, warm and soft and comforting, and V thinks that if he were to die right now, he would at least die in peace.</p><p> </p><p>That's how he feels: at peace. He doesn't know if it's the conversation they just had or if it's just Johnny, maybe it's a bit of both, but what he does know is that it feels so fucking good. It's good and he has this feeling that if we were to lean in, tilt his head just a little, his lips would meet Johnny's. That if he were to open his eyes, he'd find himself much closer to the other man than they were earlier, pulled together by an invisible string.</p><p> </p><p>The moment ends, eventually. Johnny shifts besides him and suddenly his hand is gone and the air feels much colder on that part of V's neck. He holds on to the memory of it, puts it on display at the center of his mind, to come back to whenever he wants.</p><p> </p><p>“You know, I hated that stupid mullet of yours at first but I kinda like it now,” Johnny says and it makes V laughs, because he remembers the man's countless criticizing of his haircut.</p><p> </p><p>“I knew you'd come around,” he grins, and Johnny rolls his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>Eventually, the sun gets lower and the sky is tinted orange, and they agree silently that they'll stay to watch the sunset before leaving. It's beautiful, nothing like the morning, but it perfectly matches their mood, quiet and comforted.</p><p> </p><p>“Where to next?” Johnny asks as he sits in the car, adjusting his seat so he can extend his legs.</p><p> </p><p>“I don't know. How 'bout we just drive until we get somewhere?”</p><p> </p><p>They sleep in the car that night, with the seats laid down, facing each other. The ghost of a smile floats on V's lips way after he's fallen asleep.</p><p> </p><p>V wakes up in the middle of the night, sweaty and gasping for air. His heart is pounding unnaturally fast in his chest, images of blood and gore printed on his retina. He hadn't had a nightmare ever since Johnny and him got out of Arasaka tower in two different bodies. He let down his guard, allowed himself to grow accustomed to peaceful nights and now the panic feels so much worse, choking him, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.</p><p> </p><p>Shit, now is not the moment to have a panic attack, he thinks, and he tries to breathe deeply, long inhales and slow exhales, but his breath hitches in his throat, gets stuck halfway down, doesn't reach his lungs. He can't close his eyes without having horrible, copper red flashes of the past months, so he tries to focus on something still, something that's not shaking as much as he is but he can't, he can't see anything clearly, there's a blur covering his vision that he can't get rid of and he's getting dizzy from the lack of oxygen.</p><p> </p><p>A strangled whine escapes his lips, an involuntary reaction to the pain, and he grabs his thighs in hope that they'll keep him grounded, digs his fingers in the flesh and tightens his grip until it hurts, just to get his mind off the rest, just to have something new to think about.</p><p> </p><p>He doesn't realize Johnny's woken up until he feels his hands on each side of his face, turning his head so he's looking at him.</p><p> </p><p>“You with me, V?” He asks, his voice tinted with sleep, and asks again when he gets no answer. “You're hyperventilating,” he says, and if V was able to talk he would say <em>no shit </em>but he can't so he just nods, gasps loudly.</p><p> </p><p>Johnny mutters something under his breath, rubs his face with one hand. “Can you move? I want you to get on the back seat.” His tone his gentle, unusually so, but then again, he's not that kind of asshole. He's seen Kerry having panic attacks, a lifetime ago, hell, he had some too, and he knows that what V needs right now is someone to help him stay grounded, count his breaths with him, talk to him. He does just that.</p><p><br/>V crawls and stumbles gracelessly onto the back seat while Johnny looks for something in his bag before coming over as well. He extends his legs on the seat and manhandles V so he's sitting between them, his back snug against the older man's chest, strong arms circling him.</p><p> </p><p>Johnny opens the window slightly and gets his lighter from his pocket, except the smell that fills the space isn't the usual one. This is earthy and leafy and it reminds V of being young and carefree.</p><p> </p><p>“Kerry gave this to me when I saw him before we left,” Johnny all but whispers because they're so close, so, so close, and V can feel his hot breath just behind his ear, the jaw moving against his hair.</p><p>He takes the joint between two fingers like he did all those years ago, brings it to his lips with a shaky hand, manages to inhale the smoke and holds it inside until he vision darkens at the corners and the world starts swaying around him.</p><p> </p><p>He has trouble breathing, still, but he tries his best to synchronize his inhales and exhales with Johnny's, focuses on the steady rise and fall of the chest against his back. The man coughs behind him as a cloud of smoke disappears into the air.</p><p> </p><p>“Shit, I haven't done this in a while,” he mumbles, “but apparently, it's good stuff.”</p><p> </p><p>V can already feel it, a fuzzy cover over his thoughts, a warmness spreading from his chest to his brain, fire in his veins. He feels lighter already, and it's partly because of the weed, partly because of the body behind him. Johnny still has an arm draped over his chest, protective, and his other hand, when the joint is finished, pets V's hair softly, fingertips lightly massaging the scalp. V leans in the embrace a little more, lets his head fall back on Johnny's shoulder, heavy with smoke. The arm around him tightens ever-so-slightly, just a twitch, really, but it's good and V feels safe.</p><p> </p><p>His body gets completely limp after a few minutes, any trace of rigidity long gone and nightmares clouded by drugs. He allows himself to close his eyes, finally, and only sees a blissful, comforting darkness. He feels like Johnny and him are still connected, like they can still feel each other's emotions, like they still share the same body. It's like they melted, merged together again, fallen into a perfect rhythm.</p><p> </p><p>“Thanks,” V murmurs as he snuggles closer to the other man, lace their fingers together on his stomach.</p><p> </p><p>Johnny doesn't answer.</p><p>At least not with words.</p><p> </p><p>He does kiss lightly the side of V's forehead, though, but at this point, both of them are way too high to really notice it.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>i'll admit i made myself cry while i was writing V's past lmao but who doesn't love a little angst? it makes the fluff much sweeter!</p><p>i hope you liked it, don't forget to leave comments and/or kudos, as they both make me very happy! ♥</p>
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